


With LOVE

by reset-after-reset (relvius)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, POV Second Person, Physical Abuse, Suicidality, all around Not A Nice Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5266604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relvius/pseuds/reset-after-reset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, Sans. His single HP, his terrible ATK. You decide to fix that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With LOVE

It happens across numerous timelines: Sans dies. Again and again and again, crumbled into lifeless dust. Usually, it’s the anomaly. Sometimes, it’s not. He’s a good dodger, but he can’t do it every time, not against everyone who might try to lay a claw on him. Just one nick shatters him. So, he dies, again and again and again, and you’re painfully aware of every one. Every Sans-less world, broken and irredeemable.

Just one LOVE would do him good.

You find Sans this time around hunched in the snow. In front of him is a pile of dust quickly dissolving into the slush. Ah, this scene. He's choking on his sobs, but still manages to notice your slowly coalescing presence behind him. He whirls around and stumbles to his feet in one frantic motion.

“gaster,” he cries. “gaster-- papyrus, he-- they--” He then collapses into you, hands grabbing at what parts of your form they can, slipping through, fumbling when you shift and the handholds change. It’s not often he’s the one to initiate the contact; you welcome the way that his touch solidifies you, fixes you to this single point in spacetime. You let yourself melt around him, a hand around the back of his head as he leans into you completely.

“the human--” You know. “papyrus didn’t do anything, and then they--” You know. After a few moments, Sans finally begins to calm down, his shaking sobs fading into silence, his shoulders hunched into you.

You are not here to comfort him.

He nods. “i know.”

You need him to do something.

He stiffens, although he doesn’t make any attempt to move away -- you would hold him still if he did, anyway. He’s weak, you tell him. A single HP -- how does he live like that? And falling apart so completely over the happenings of a timeline that you both know will be reset.

“he’s still dead,” Sans bites back. You almost congratulate him for that amount of aggression, but then he’s crying again, clutching into you as if you’re his tether to reality and not the other way around. Maybe at another timeplace, he’d be more communicative, but also, what you need him to do will be easiest to ask now, the way this timeline has hurt him.

You wrap into his arms and shoulders, anticipating the recoil, and tell him he has to kill.

“what--!?” And indeed he tries to jerk back. Only once, though. “kill-- kill who?”

That’s not what you said. This is about him. His fragility, his weakness. He dies so many times, and this is the solution.

He shakes his head.

This isn’t a choice. You bring a hand to his skull, rubbing a thumb over a cheekbone. You’ve seen him die too many times. Sans more than anyone should know how it feels to see a loved one die continuously, helplessly. His gaze flicks down towards the snow.

“you’re asking me to raise my LOVE.” Yes. “i can’t.” No.

There are times when he kills the human -- can he imagine how many EXP that gets him?

That surprises him. “why would i--?” but he cuts himself off with a shake of the head, one that almost seems like he’s trying to shake your hand off. “you’re still saying i go out and just… kill someone? for no reason?”

You are the reason. That’s enough.

Sans is silent for a moment, but finally nods. “that’s enough,” he agrees, and turns his permanent smile up towards you, eyes blank.

 

* * *

 

You take him to his Snowdin sentry post. You've both agreed that he’s to kill the first monster that he happens to see. Don’t overthink it.

The air is still and peaceful. It might take a while for any other monster to come this way, so far from any town, but you don’t mind. You take up a comfortable position behind him, parts of yourself wrapping around his legs and sides. A hug of sorts. Contact means you won’t shift unexpectedly back into the void. And soon those bones would hum with even stronger magic. Maybe that was the secret to finally securing you back to reality -- the sort of magic that Sans could unleash when completely unrestrained. Experiments were necessary.

He’s grabbed one of your hands with both of his, fiddling with the movement of the joints and the edges of the hole. Something between a nervous tic and a show of affection.

You tell him you remember times like this from when you existed. Huddled together in the chill Snowdin air, the two of you soaking in the silence.

“sounds nice.” He sighs. “we’ll have those moments again.”

You know.

The snow crunches. You both turn -- if Sans wasn’t already obligated to kill whoever it was, you might have asked him to anyway, the way it feels like an intrusion. Through the tendrils crawling across Sans’ back, you feel him take a sharp breath, and he stops fidgeting with your hand.

It’s a child. A small reptile, standing upon two legs and wearing a simple striped shirt, armless. They’re crouched over in the snow, following what looks to be a large bug hopping across the snow. They follow it a few steps before looking up and smiling brightly at the sentry station. “Heya, Sans!”

Sans says nothing. Neither do you, but you prod the back of his leg.

“c’mon, man, not them,” Sans pleads in a whisper, “not a kid.”

Would someone else be better? You ask Sans who he would prefer to kill instead.

He goes silent and hollow.

“Sans, you seen these bugs? They’re huge!” The child comes trotting over. “You seen ‘em, right? What do you do out here, anyway? Seems really boring, if ya ask me!”

As the child draws nearer, Sans tries to take a step back, but you press forward against him. You hiss that you’re losing patience. Slowly, he lets go of your hand. One arm raises up, magic swelling.

The child stops at once, then glances around. “Um, hey, what’s up, Sans...?”

But Sans doesn’t move further. You feel him beginning to tremble, and he drops his arm an inch. You’re not interested in this: You grab his magic and thrust it forward, a mass of black and blue slam into the child before they can cry out.

It’s amazing that they don’t go down in one turn. When the magic clears, they’ve fallen into the snow, crying, “Sans! Sans, why--!?” With teary, frightened eyes, they send out their pathetic self-defense: a few simple bullets, sent out at random. Sans barely has to move to evade.

Your turn, Sans.

He needs to be the one to initiate the killing blow, you both know. Otherwise, it won’t count -- those EXP would just be yours. This next turn seems to last forever, but this time, you wait, cooing supportively into him. He’ll want to end this child’s pain, you’re certain. Finally, a ring of bones form around the child’s mangled soul, and shoot inwards.

And miss.

And the child mounts its shaky, tearful response, a single bullet so slow and weak that even a snail could move aside. But Sans doesn’t. At the last possible moment, you pull Sans down into the ground, and in all your fury, the child ceases to matter -- ceases to _matter_ , to exist at all in any coherent form, to have ever existed anywhere. Your rage turns onto Sans.

Sans is propping himself up from the ground with an elbow, rubbing his shoulder with his other arm. “heh, you really saved my skin there, g,” he says flatly.

He more properly screams when you bear down into him, snapping at least his arm, maybe a rib. You twist the shards around and crack into a shoulderblade for good measure. His screams shift from swearing to begging to wordless sobs before you decide he’s had enough. You hold the broken bones together as you hoist him upwards. He hangs limply in your form.

You ask if he’s finished defying you.

A second passes, so you slam him back down into the earth. He yells and tries to curl up, but you have him pinned flat. You ask again, and this time he nods immediately.

His life, his soul are yours, you tell him, and he is not allowed to even _think_ of taking them away from you. You lift him once more, and it doesn't escape you how like a puppet he feels, bones drooped around you. The black around and through his arm thrusts upward, forcing his broken arm over his head; he hisses in pain, but otherwise doesn’t move against you. Good. You two will try again.

 

* * *

 

You’re making your way back to Snowdin by foot, no shortcut. Every step is pain for Sans, but trying to die in your hands is a sin you do not intend to soon forgive him for. You hover behind him like a shadow, a part of you entangled through his arm and ribs, partly to hold his broken bones together and partly to keep you secured in this reality. He has his hood up and stares at the ground no further than a few feet ahead; you’re the one keeping an eye out for any unlucky sign of life.

And there he is: the lesser dog. He's digging a remarkably sized hole in the snow and earth to the side of the path, his lengthened neck still poking up over the edges. So, he is able to see Sans approach, and barks a greeting.

Let's just get to the point.

This fight takes longer, and you can feel the toll on Sans. He’s shaking, moving slowly, and never raising his gaze to meet the lesser dog’s.  Nevertheless, his attacks are effective: Quick flurries of bones swipe against the dog's soul, chipping his HP further down with every turn. The dog barks in confusion at first, but quickly gets into the rhythm of turn by turn. Maybe he thinks they’re sparring, given how weak Sans’ attacks are. And indeed, the dog's attacks grow less enthusiastic as his HP falls dangerously low, his barks now tired and questioning.

Finally, Sans asks for the use of your power. You oblige gladly. A ghastly skull forms in the air in front of Sans; he looks away as it opens its mouth and fires. There’s first a yelp, a low whimper cut short, and then silence.

Ding.

You swell with pride and sheer joy, and Sans all but crumples into you. You lower him into the ground carefully, enveloping him almost completely. Doesn't this feel better? A little buffer of HP, some small amount of ATK and DEF more?

“not really,” he murmurs. Anything else would be a lie, of course.

Regardless, you're happy. You laugh giddily into him, hands petting his skull and legs and arms. He flinches away for a moment -- oh, right, the broken bones -- but leans back into you when you take care not to brush against those areas. He's crying again, silent tears dropping into and absorbed by the void. That’s not quite what you wanted, not with how cheerful you are; you nuzzle your face close to his and tell him how proud of him you are.

He always responds well to your praise, and the smile plastered to his face twitches into something almost honest. “anything for you.”

You know, and he did well, and you love him.

Of course, it will take time and additional data points to know if this will help -- if Sans will need a LOVE (or more?) with every reset, for security -- but right now at least, in this timeline, he’s safer.


End file.
